


Waiting Game

by Gla22



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cis Elias Bouchard, Edging, I mean I consider it a normal amount of nipple contact, M/M, Nipple Play, PWP, Top Peter Lukas, Trans Peter Lukas, but like the rage-inducing kind not the subspace kind, but what do I know really, i guess, mostly edging if we're being honest, perspective shift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:28:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27596864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gla22/pseuds/Gla22
Summary: Peter is curious. Elias is suffering.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	Waiting Game

**Author's Note:**

> Peter's anatomy is only referred to with "folds". It doesn't have a huge impact here, for better or for worse.  
> Like many of my kind, I feed off comments; please feel free to engage if you're so inclined. 
> 
> Anyway, I've returned to AO3 after three years with nearly 4k of edging PWP written through a feverish haze and a latte. Here's Wonderwall.

“Hmmmm,” Peter hummed, his voice even in a way that tightened the skin on the back of Elias’ neck. “I don’t know that you’re going to get anywhere like this.”

Ungrateful bastard. Elias had set himself aside, even magnanimously let Peter stay in his chair. He perched with knees planted outside Peter’s thighs, his hand down Peter’s trousers, and his thin lips playing across his pulse. Peter had, of course, refused to keep his hands to himself. His right hand was tucked into Elias’ unbuttoned shirt, calloused fingertips and blunted nails sliding over his chest - with the occasional pinch thrown in just to make Elias flinch. (When he’d first started in on the buttons, Elias had tried to pin him with a Look, but Peter just avoided his eye, gazing blandly over his shoulder, and Elias had been too proud to admit that his touch would be… distracting.) Peter’s left rested over the back of his neck, barely a caress, close enough to his hairline that he could never quite turn a blind eye to the threat of it. And they’d been like this for nigh on twenty minutes now, as Elias’ knees began to complain, his cock grew harder, and Peter stubbornly refused to move past the initial stages of arousal.

“Neutral,” Peter’d proclaimed, when asked how he felt about the nips Elias was inclined to hang over his throat and collarbone. Of course. Elias didn’t know what he’d expected from someone dedicated to the lonely, but even the answer he’d known was coming had left him somewhat bereft, longing for somewhere constructive to root his teeth. It happened like this frequently - Peter was slow to start at the best of times. It’d exposed some of Elias’ defensive tendencies, at first; Elias would like to think that a hundred and fifty years of experience would have given him some sort of edge. Eventually, he’d become so catty Peter had laughed and clarified that it was nothing personal (not that anything with him was), just a trait he’d always had. He rarely wished to indulge himself with anyone, and when he did, he seemed to take greater pleasure in watching them than in any physical sensation they could impose. It prickled Elias’ pride, but at this point he knew better than to try and change it.

Peter stirred under him. His right hand ghosted over the left side of Elias’ chest and flank, his left hand threatened to draw from his neck and devote itself to something nefarious, and Elias found himself with a choice to make. Either he kept them as they were, trying to wring an unlikely orgasm out of Peter until he inevitably ran out of patience and withdrew - either via the door or in a huff of mist - or Elias gave up his hard-fought position as the higher of the two.

“Fine,” Elias said, convinced he’d suppressed any visible irritation. His right hand ground to a halt in Peter’s slick folds and played across his powerful thighs. He considered digging the point of his thumbs into the nerves inside of Peter's knees, just to get a rise, but decided he’d rather not be flung bodily to the floor this early in the morning. Besides, the touches Peter had insisted on were persuasive in their own right, and Elias admitted (to himself) his trousers were becoming uncomfortable. When Peter brushed his thumb over Elias' nipple once more, Elias held back a moment for the sake of his pride before condescending to sigh and lean forward into the touch, eyes sliding closed and both arms rising to loop behind Peter’s neck. After working to maintain focus through Peter’s relentless, demanding touches, his body ached with want and the promise of relaxing just a bit felt like a blessing.

Peter, for his part, allowed himself a moment to enjoy Elias’ weight in his lap as his muscles slackened, to watch his jaw go loose and his lips part around the sigh. It was almost safe to look Elias in the face during moments like these, when the tendrils of beholding that usually prowled his surroundings were preoccupied with internal sensation, withdrawing like sated eels to their dens.

Unfortunately, Peter had a rather underdeveloped sense of self-preservation and a consistent proclivity for kicking beehives. Instead of pushing ahead with the sure bets - taking advantage of Elias’ sensitivity, maybe muss his hair - Peter decided to try something different. He moved his hands to the outside of Elias’ thighs, just above his knees, then shoved his fingers into the creases where they meet his calves. He knew Elias’ eyes would fly open, and so he kept his eyes on Elias’ mouth, watching his jaw clench and a breath hiss out through his teeth; the hands that had been languid behind Peter’s neck scrambled forward to clutch at his shoulders as Peter stood and dumped Elias on the desk before he could fashion a protest.

The death grip Elias maintained on Peter’s jacket robbed the “whump” made by a grown man being flipped onto a wooden desk of some of its gravity, to Peter’s chagrin, but the soft “oof” squeezed out of Elias as the desk hit his back and Peter’s weight his sternum just about made up for it. “Always such a gentleman,” Elias growled once he got a full breath down.

“I’m very careful to treat those around me in reciprocation to my own treatment in the past,” Peter replied, voice bland. His hands, still tucked behind Elias’ knees, slid up the backs of his thighs to his ass and lingered there a moment, kneading lightly. Peter elected to ignore the incredulous noise from somewhere above him, which he thought was magnanimous, and moved to unbuckling Elias’ belt.

“Of course,” Elias said, and ran his nails over Peter’s scalp, and if there was a touch more force to it than strictly necessary neither of them were going to mention it. Still, he couldn’t help but give another sigh - perhaps harsher, and certainly less relaxed, than the previous - and stretch his feet to the now-abandoned chair in order to get enough leverage to lift his hips as Peter unzipped his fly. Peter hummed, but mercifully refrained from comment as he tugged Elias’ trousers and pants down together, leaving him exposed over his desk with Peter standing between his legs.

Elias knew, on an intellectual level, that he should at least project indignance, maybe make a dig at the whole reciprocation concept, but instead he took a deep breath and let his eyes flutter closed as one of Peter’s hands returned to his chest and the fingertips of the other dug into the flesh of his inner thigh. If Peter insisted on involving his ridiculous fetish, so be it, as long as he finally made himself useful; if he wasn’t going to get off for Elias he may as well get Elias off. Elias swallowed his sarcasm and waited for the touch to go from teasing to gratifying.

And waited. The hand roaming over his chest had centralized around, but not over, his nipple; the fingers that dug into his thigh tangled in his pubic hair. He waited. The circling on his chest continued, occasionally drifting to the other side to blithely avoid that nipple as well. The other hand was no better. Up and down his thighs, up to his hip bones, rubbing at the base of his cock (which by now had gone an angry shade of red), then back again. Elias squirmed, accepted that no amount of adjustment would address the cause of his discomfort, and stopped.

“Is there something wrong, Elias?” Peter asked. Elias opened his eyes, counted back from five, and then looked down to see Peter grinning back - making full, unsolicited eye contact. The shock of it drove Elias back a millimeter involuntarily, and Peter’s empty grin deepened a touch in response to the look on his face. “You seem a touch… restless.”

Elias stared back, disbelief warring with a climbing level of outrage. He can’t be serious. Peter’s body may be a black box, but he knew how affected Elias became, and how quickly.

_(“I miss James,” Elias had grumbled into the sheets after a particularly embarrassing encounter, early in his transition. “I don’t,” Peter had replied, cheerfully pulling his boots back on.)_

“Hmmm?” Peter’s hands were slowing, giving him even less to work with, but never so little that he could actually focus uninhibited. This had to be some sort of joke - a very bad one, in his personal opinion.

The eye contact. Elias tugged on that line between them, trying to peel back that bland grin and find what on earth Peter hoped to get out of this. There was an obvious answer, but there was something disquieting about his demeanor, something that made Elias increasingly sure that begging wasn’t going to get him anywhere (even if he _were_ willing to, which he was _not_ \- yet). Peter held his gaze, utterly untroubled, as sparks of gold flickered in Elias’ eyes.

Nothing. It was difficult to penetrate the fog that obscured Peter’s thoughts at the best of times let alone when Elias was so thoroughly scattered, but he’d hoped there’d be something shallow - something in the front of his thoughts that he wanted just as surely as Elias did that he was just doing a better job of hiding. Instead, where Elias had hoped to find some form of concrete desire, there was only curiosity and a heap of amusement. There was so little to latch on to that Elias almost thought (not for the first time) that the shapeless fog wasn’t so much cover for Peter’s mind as an expression of its emptiness.

Something touched him - really touched him, fingers firm on his nipple - and he jolted back to his body with a strangled cry. “Now, that was rude, don’t you think? Coming into someone’s head and thinking so loudly, right where they can hear you? If you have a problem, you can just use your words - I must say, this reluctance to hear yourself talk is most unlike you,” Peter said as his hands went back to idling not quite where Elias needed them.

“I-“ Elias began without a clear idea what he was going to say, and for once nothing presented itself once he started the sentence, so it just… stopped. His eyes closed and he went through his options as fast as he could through the stuttering in his thoughts, like a child with a flip book. He could try to See Peter, whether he liked it or not. He could start in on one of his memories, though this had a low success rate when Peter had already wallowed in most of them to the point of uselessness. He could attack him physically; he was quite sure Peter was stronger, but this body was taller and heavier, and that had to count for something.

There were a dozen ways he could fight back, but all of them were predicated on the idea that what he wanted most was to punish Peter - which was something he wanted a very great deal, at this point, but not what he wanted most. If Peter left, or passed over the threshold from impish to vindictive, he wasn’t going to get it, and moreover, something in his scattered brain insisted that the more he tried to get under Peter’s skin the more perverse glee Peter would take in refusing to take the bait. Elias raised his arms off the desk and laid them around Peter’s neck again, an echo of their previous posture, and opened his eyes to find Peter still gazing up at him. Elias ground his teeth and said “Don’t seem to be having an issue with eye contact now, do you?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Peter said, nails digging into the crease where Elias’ thigh met his groin. He watched Elias’ mouth twist into something that tried to be a sneer and his eyes shut again - decisively, this time. He was trying to pull his breathing into a steady pattern, trying (largely unsuccessfully) to force himself to relax, to appear calm, collected, and above all unbothered. Peter tangled his fingers in his pubic hair and tugged. Elias shifted under him, but in a lazy sort of way. Hm.

The next time Peter’s hand came up Elias’ thigh, they kept going. He pressed his thumb into Elias’ perineum, for just a moment, then turned his hand to roll Elias’ balls between his fingers. The defensive curl melted out of Elias’ shoulders and his body went slack as Peter ran a finger along the seam of nerves separating his testicles. Peter wrapped the hand around the base of his cock, and a barely-audible huff of air whispered from his lips as his jaw went slack. Peter placed his hand on Elias’ hip, rubbed his thumb into the crease where thigh met pelvis, and waited.

It took a moment - just a moment. Then, Elias’ hands curled into fists, his eyes shot open, his leg spasmed at nothing. He held Peter’s eyes for a speechless second, then snarled, “ _Fuck you_.”

Peter laughed, full and booming. Couldn’t help himself. Splotches of color had finally broken over Elias’ cheekbones, his eyes were blown with lust and narrowed with rage, and his cock had begun to weep, yet he refused to take the slightest action to change his position. He’d thought himself into a corner and Peter barely had to lift a finger to keep him there. “You tried that already, dear,” he said, forgetting to keep fondness from mixing with his amusement - though in fairness he didn’t think Elias was in a proper state to notice.

“ _Fuck_ you,” Elias said again, apparently unwilling to formulate another retort.

Peter chucked, digging his thumb in just below Elias’ nipple. “Though in all honesty I’m really not sure what you’re getting so upset over. This is hardly the most taxing set of paces I’ve put you through.”

“You - I -“ Elias sputtered for a second, then tried to pull his arms back to prop himself up on his elbows. Peter intercepted them, squeezed his wrists, and planted them firmly but dispassionately on the desk - too far down to support his weight. Elias held himself up for a few breaths on force of will, then collapsed gracelessly. “ _What do you want?_ ” Elias cried, writhing in Peter’s grip. The compulsion wasn’t intentional as such, but he didn’t care enough to stop it, and the air between them cracked under his voice. “What are you _possibly_ getting out of this? Why won’t you just -?”

The question cut off in a harsh gasp as Peter leaned down and pinched Elias’ nipple between his teeth. His hands migrated in from Elias’ wrists over his chest and he broke his mouth away, still looming low. Peter brought his face up towards Elias, holding his now-unfocused eyes, as his hands took over on his chest. “Drop it,” Peter said, voice on the edge of sing-song.

Elias’ eyes widened, then closed, and he dropped it. He hadn’t even meant to; his compulsion required focus to keep pressure on and his focus was certainly no longer on Peter’s hypothetical motivation. He choked on a whimper as Peter ran his thumbs over both nipples simultaneously, the sensation overwhelming after so much anticipation. Then Peter’s weight pressed down on him, another chuckle breathed into his ear, teeth digging into the soft flesh behind the corner of his jaw, and he was aware that he’d made another noise - louder, less muffled.

It was embarrassing, he was distantly aware, as was the involuntary thrust of his hips now that Peter’s body had offered his cock some blessed friction. He cared about that, he was fairly sure? Had cared? Did care, he decided, did want to offer some kind of retort; it was just that focusing now, as electric impulses flashed across his body, was so much harder than letting go - than letting himself be a thing, object, not subject.

* * *

Peter felt Elias’ hips stuttering under him and hummed pensively. As entertaining as it was to chart Elias’ pitch as he buried his teeth in different parts of his neck, if he gave him too much friction it was possible he’d come on his own, and he didn’t want that. In the past, Peter might have assumed that Elias wouldn’t be able to get off from the simple press of their bodies - assumed in error, as it were. He lifted himself mostly upright (regretfully), leaving his hands worrying at Elias’ chest. 

“Well, I did expect you to use your words,” Peter mused. Elias’ eyes cracked open for a second and flashed up at him, still managing to exude rage even as they narrowed closed again. Peter pinched him with both hands, just a touch rougher, and Elias’ panting was interrupted by a reedy whine. His fingers curled to claws, nails scraping uselessly over the polished desktop. Peter didn’t bother moderating his grin. “But I suppose you’ve communicated what you’re after clearly enough.”

Peter found, to his self-satisfaction, that Elias had drawn his knees up over his hips on his own, and so it was a simple matter to shoulder his way under them so that his thighs bracketed Peter’s head. Peter drew his left hand down, curling his fingers down and pressing so that his nails left flushed lines down Elias’ flank and over his hip. Elias’ breathing went even harsher, and his knees pushed down on Peter’s shoulders, raising his hips off the desk. Peter hummed to himself, pensive, as his left hand slipped between Elias’ legs and rolled over his balls. Elias keened, his cock twitched, and his hips tried to press even higher as Peter watched and tried to decide whether to pin him to his desk or dangle him above it. 

Well, they were already halfway there, weren’t they? And if Elias wanted to go higher, it was certainly within Peter’s abilities to do so. He wrapped his left arm around Elias’ thigh, pinning leg to shoulder, and stood to his full height, dragging Elias towards him. Elias’ eyes fluttered and he bucked, reflexive, but his position was entirely without leverage and in a moment he was hanging with just his shoulder blades still on the desk. He looked, for a moment, like he might be trying to formulate a sentence instead of a moan, and Peter let him try. Then, just before he may (or may not) have been able to spit it out, Peter adjusted the angle of his cock with the hand about his thigh and took the dripping red head of it between his lips. 

The response was instantaneous. Elias pressed his head back and his thighs clamped tight around Peter’s jaw; his tense hands found the lip of the desk and clutched at it, knuckles gone white, and his voice started to form something that might have been a “P” or might have just been a hitch in his panting. Peter brought his left hand lower, thumb back into the perineum, took it just an inch deeper, and ran his tongue from the slit to the bundle of nerves tucked under the head. 

Normally, Elias’ orgasms were gasping, spasming things, but it would seem that today his muscles already held all the tension they could. He still shook, though, all through him, and his cries took on a tone that was near sobbing. Peter worked him until he was empty and then some, until his legs pressed back weakly but steadily and torso moved like he was trying to crawl away. Peter released him, lowered his boneless body as gently as he was able, and spat into his wastebin. 

“Well?” he asked, “Am I forgiven?” 

Elias didn’t move for a moment. Peter jabbed one of the red lines engraved in his side. “Shut up,” Elias said, voice hoarse, eyes still closed. “I don’t know what you said and I won’t be able to hear you for at least another half minute, but I’m sure it was something inane.”

Peter chuckled, a touch darker than before. He was never sure what to do in these moments, so after he replaced and straightened his clothing as necessary he just stood, aimless, allowing the sense of awkwardness to prickle at the back of his neck. At this point not even he was sure if it was painful or comforting. 

He was still standing there gazing aimlessly around the office when the ringing in Elias’ ears came down enough to let real sound in. He flexed his legs, experimental, then labored himself up into a hunched perch on the edge of his desk and busied himself buttoning his shirt. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then glanced over at Peter, who was back to avoiding his eye. “Fine,” Elias said, “I’ll ask. What was it you tried to say to me?”

“Oh, that,” Peter said. The beatific smile was rebuilding itself, and he was examining the portrait hanging over the office door. “Am I forgiven?”

Elias’ fingers froze on his buttons. “ _Forgiven_ ?” he hissed. “Are you _forgiven_ ? There is _plenty_ I could say to that, _Peter_ , but the short answer is no. Absolutely not.” 

“Really?” Peter said, voice thick with exaggerated surprise. “Still angry? But you seemed to enjoy yourself so thoroughly, especially at the end there.” He blinked up at the portrait, all but batting his eyelashes. “Went off even more quickly than usual.”

Elias curled in on himself even further, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You irksome little man,” he said into his hand. His words carried the very distinct, deliberate tone of someone narrowly suppressing the strong urge to scream. “If you’re not out of my office in the next minute I am going to _kill_ you.”

“Now there’s a shame,” Peter said. “You finally manage to get me in the mood for reciprocation and there you go kicking me out. Rather harsh, if I say so my self. Borderline sadistic.” 

“Recipri-” Elias sputtered, cut himself off, and all but leapt off the desk, heedless of the weakness in his legs. A bit too heedless, perhaps, as his knees immediately gave out and he was forced to catch himself on his chair. He hung there for half a second, then levered himself upright and staggered the few steps to where Peter stood, grabbing the front of Peter’s jacket in what was certainly an intimidating fashion and definitely not a safeguard to stabilize himself. “Alright, Peter. I’m in a generous mood. Why don’t you stay a while we’ll find out just how sadistic I’m feeling?”


End file.
